


White Christmas-A Starsky & Hutch Christmas Card

by mvernet, Spencer5460



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Based on White Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Irving Berlin Songs, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:51:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spencer5460/pseuds/Spencer5460
Summary: Starsky and Hutch have left the Bay City PD, but still have close ties to the Dobeys. Hutch is now a famous singer and Starsky, his manager. But they both feel something is missing from their life.Originally posted on Starsky and Hutch Archives Advent Calendar, 2016. Story is based on Irving Berlin's White Christmas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author Notes: The classic movie “White Christmas” was the inspiration for this fanfiction, which takes place Post-Series. The authors wish to acknowledge Irving Berlin for his heartwarming songs and Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye for their stellar performances that forever live in the collective American heart and come back to life each Christmas. We don’t own them or Starsky and Hutch, but we love them and will love them for many White Christmases to come.
> 
> Some song lyrics have been respectfully changed to be gender non-specific or to match the story’s intent. The authors do not mean this to be a parody of Irving Berlin’s songs.
> 
> Shameless Romanticism follows:

Overture

The gathering at Huggy’s bar was bittersweet, as much as it was filled with profanity-laced jokes, backhanded tributes, and plenty of alcohol to numb the unspoken sadness. Everyone, from “Biggy” Bigalow in Requisition to Simonetti in Internal Affairs, knew they were witnessing the end of an era. The end of Starsky-and-Hutch, as they had been so affectionately known.

As hard as Starsky had worked to get reinstated after Gunther’s goons and their high-powered guns had nearly torn his body in half, no doctor in the city would clear him to go back on the streets with only one lung. After all the painful rehab he went through, sometimes Starsky thought he might have been better off if he would have died that day last Spring rather than spend the rest of his life chained to a desk. But then he’d look at Hutch—remember how he’d been with him each agonizing step of the way, see the devotion shining from his eyes—and realize he was the luckiest man in the world.

They’d talked long into the night about Starsky’s idea of leaving the force until, by the first streaks of dawn, they’d both agreed it was the right choice. But Starsky only had a few months left of disability payments and still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. It had taken all his powers of persuasion to convince Hutch not to worry about him – that he had plenty of money-making schemes spinning through his head.

Still, he could tell Hutch was less than convinced. If he knew Hutch at all – and he knew him inside out and upside down – he knew his soon-to-be former partner was more interested in Starsky having the best possible quality of life than he was in anything else. All they both knew for sure was that, whatever path they traveled, they never wanted to be far from each other.

Almost as hard as discussing his future with Hutch had been turning in his resignation to Captain Dobey, who’d been like a father to them. Predictably, Dobey had erupted like a not-so-small volcano and shouted that Starsky was out of his mind. Demanded that Hutch talk some sense into him. Insisted that Starsky was a better cop behind a desk that most were on the street. But it had been a losing battle.

Even now, they could tell Dobey was fighting to put on a brave face as he hoisted a glass in toast after bawdy toast—he was looking old and tired beyond his years. Starsky and Hutch weren’t the only ones who’d been ravaged by Starsky’s brush with death.

Starsky worked on another of the many beers that his brothers in blue continued to buy as the evening wore on, half listening to Lt. Babcock’s story of how his latest bust of Orphan Annie had gone terribly wrong when her dog, Sandy, had peed on his partner’s shoe. Christmas was only a few weeks away and usually Starsky was the one to force cheer into his holiday-impaired partner, like blowing air into a balloon.

He’d done his best this year to point out the tinsel sagging off the Hotel Bremin’s marquee or Eddie in his thread-bare Santa suit collecting for Salvation Army on the corner of 5th and Wilson, but his newly repaired heart wasn’t it in. This season more than others he longed for the snow that glistened under the Eighty-Fourth Street lamp post as it fell, then built up along the sides of the street like miniature Alps.

Maybe his close call with death had made him more nostalgic than usual. Starsky wondered if perhaps he wasn’t far from sitting with the old men in the Venice coffee shop grumbling about the rising price of gas and how kids had no respect these days.

Just as Babcock’s yarn was ending, a clear and sweet tenor accompanied by a mellow guitar broke through to silence the guffaws.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know.”

Starsky knew he’d recognize that sound in his sleep. The sound that could rouse him from his deepest nightmares.

Hutch.

“Where the treetops glisten, and children listen to hear sleigh bells in the snow.”

Their eyes met across the tables. So Starsky hadn’t been able to hide his feelings after all. He wasn’t surprised. Hutch had always seemed to know exactly the right things to do or say to pick him up from wherever he fell. From cooking his favorite meal (courtesy of his mother’s recipe) when he was grieving a lost love, to reading him the riot act when he was feeling guilty about causing a young woman temporary blindness.

From all corners of the bar everyone stopped to listen as Hutch serenaded them with the Christmas classic, aimed directly at Starsky. Starsky set down his beer, too choked up to take another sip.

“Damn, Hutchinson. You should have gone into showbiz. You’re wastin’ that pretty voice and face of yours on the street,” someone called out from the back. Grunts of agreement echoed from every corner of the bar.

They’d heard the compliments often enough but had never really taken them seriously. Hutch had sung in some coffee shops while he was in college, but natural shyness had kept him from being interested in performing before larger crowds. He’d been a popular attraction at department picnics and community charity events. But while working a case, when he’d been called on to sing with Sue Ann Grainger, a well-known country singer, he’d nearly fallen apart.

But Starsky and Hutch had both changed over the years. Facing their ultimate fear had made them stronger, if not physically, then mentally and emotionally.

Suddenly, Starsky got an idea and he went to use the phone in the back hall.

<><>***<><>

Seven Years Later

Starsky looked out over at the large audience, grateful once again that, for the most part, the floodlights blinded Hutch from seeing exactly how large the crowd was. Hutch had lost the worse of his stage fright over the years, but as Hutch’s manager – and best friend—he wanted to ensure that Hutch had as little to worry about as possible.

The idea to call Sue Ann Grainger that night at Huggy’s years ago had been one of his craziest, but ultimately best, ideas. Not only had Sue Ann remembered Hutch’s golden voice, she’d been happy to reciprocate for how they’d handed her case. Once Starsky had explained his idea of getting Hutch into the music business, she was gracious enough to introduce them to the right people.

Hutch had been reluctant at first to pursue this new venture, but he’d never been able to turn Starsky down once his partner really had his mind set. Once he’d even talked Hutch into investing in a ramshackle building that could only be called a house by a stretch of imagination. Something Starsky never lacked. The loss of their money was nothing compared to the thought of losing Starsky. He couldn’t have borne that.

So, shortly after Starsky resigned from the force, Hutch left as well, resigned to follow Starsky wherever their intertwined destinies led.

With Starsky’s enthusiastic salesmanship and Hutch’s talent, it didn’t take long for Hutch to pick up enough gigs to make some real money. More than they ever had as detectives, anyway. And they grew more successful over the years. Once more, they found themselves to be a formidable team.

After the final encore of the evening, Starsky was there at foot of the stage, first in line as always to give Hutch a pat on the back and a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

“Great show, Hutch. You had ’em eatin’ outta your hand.”

“Better my hand than yours, burrito breath,” Hutch tossed back affectionately as he handed his guitar to a member of the crew to pack away with the rest of the equipment.

“Speakin’ of burritos, I had some sandwiches sent to your dressing room. I know that sound check glitch didn’t leave you much time to eat something decent before the show.”

“Thanks, Mom, but I’m fine. I had an energy bar and an apple during intermission.” He wiped his forehead with the soft towel without taking his eyes off Starsky. “What about you?”

The truth was, Starsky hadn’t swallowed more than a candy bar since their tour bus had pulled into the parking lot hours ago. Starsky gave a noncommittal shrug then bounded off to congratulate members of Hutch’s backup band straggling off the stage as the house lights rose. Calling out directions to the roadies and gesturing to the crew on the scaffolding all the while, Starsky felt as energetic as a Shetland sheepdog herding cats.

 

Hutch shook his head.

As hectic as performance nights where for Hutch, he knew they were twice as hard on Starsky. They might not be dodging bullets in dark alleys but some days Hutch thought that ducking over-eager fans, late night practice sessions, pushy interviewers, and the inevitable brutal review, had tossed them from the frying pan into the fire without the proper protective gear.

When they’d been detectives, their moves had come naturally -—being able to tell when a stoolie had something to hide, knowing when to turn push into shove, going high when the other went low. A crude but effective dance. This leap of faith at first had been something completely unfamiliar, even though they’d become more successful than they had ever planned or imagined. But through it all, one thing that remained constant was their instincts for each other.

“Hey, gordo,” Hutch yelled to Starsky. “They’ve all done this gig a thousand times. Come back and grab a bite with me.” Starsky may have had nine lives but Hutch was determined to be around for every one of them.

After a few minutes of Hutch’s coaxing – or what Starsky more commonly referred to as meddling—Starsky followed Hutch back to his dressing room. Behind closed doors they both dove into the sandwich tray that appeared, then slouched down on the small couch and finally relaxed.

As much as he’d grown to enjoy performing, this was the part Hutch loved the best. Being alone with Starsky after the show. Seeing the fire the thunderous applause sparked in his eyes. Feeling the energy Starsky drew from the audience like a battery freshly charged as they sat hip to hip.

Behind closed doors, there was no one or nothing else to demand their attention and they could let the pressures melt away like ice cubes in a warmed glass. But tonight, Hutch’s stomach fluttered as he noticed Starsky’s eyes seemed slightly dimmer than usual and he seemed to sag a little more deeply into the furniture.

Hutch watched him take a bite from a turkey sandwich, knowing how he would have preferred a juicy hamburger and frosty beer. But under the circumstances, they’d have to settle for cold subs and flat sodas.

“How are you feeling?” Hutch tried to sound casual, covering his concern with a sip of Coke.

“Fine. Just great as a matter of fact. That was our biggest audience yet.”

“I’m not talking about the show. I’m talking about you. Are you sure all this running around isn’t wearing you out?” The phrase, ‘for a man raised from the dead,’ hung unspoken in the air between them.

Starsky wiped a smear of mayo from the corner of his mouth. “I’ll get plenty of rest in the bus on the way to Reno.”

“Playing cards and cutting up with the guys, then filling up on junk food, and getting only a couple hours of sleep on a pull-out bed isn’t what the doctor had in mind.” Hutch gave up on his feigned nonchalance, but held back from reminding his partner he wasn’t Superman.

“Yeah well, I’m not the one that’s pushin’ forty and hoppin’ all around a stage trying to keep up with the twenty-year-olds, blondie.”

Hutch threw him a wry look.

 

“Not that those young kids have anything on you,” Starsky added with a smirk, tossing the used napkin into a nearby waste basket.

Starsky held up two fingers at the shot, but Hutch continued to give him a look that smoldered all the way through to his core. He’d kidded Hutch plenty over the years about the “Hutchinson finger,” a stern gesture that had warned off hoods and high level officials alike, but it was the aching concern in those baby blues that Starsky couldn’t brush off.

He’d seen that look too often. It was the same one he’d seen nearly every day through the months of painful rehab. That look had caused him to push himself a little harder than necessary just to prove to Hutch he intended to make it back one hundred percent. It was the expression Hutch tried to hide when it became clear he wouldn’t. It had been in the shadow that crossed Hutch’s face in the doctor’s office—along with the small exhalation of breath and hand squeeze—when the doc explained he couldn’t clear Starsky to go back on the street.

It was true Starsky had been feeling his age and then some lately. Whether it was having only one lung, never really getting enough sleep, or the fact that home-cooked meals were a distant memory, he couldn’t say. But life on the road was definitely designed for the young, which they no longer were. Maybe it was time for them to think of the next stage of their lives.

Starsky and Hutch were usually as in sync as heartbeats, but Hutch hadn’t mentioned any desire to slow down. He still continued to work as hard as ever, pouring his heart and soul into his music, as he had from the very first day Starsky had approached him with the idea of putting his money where his voice was. So Starsky kept his thoughts to himself. Hutch had given up so much for Starsky; he couldn’t bear to see Hutch give up anything else.

Starsky no longer thought in terms of a wife and family. Up to this point, he and Hutch had both failed tragically in that respect. He’d come to the conclusion that Hutch was the only family he’d ever need. But he wondered if Hutch felt the same or if he still longed for something conventional. It was the one discussion they seemed afraid to have.

He rubbed his neck and wiggled the toes he’d freed from his shoes the minute he’d stepped in the room. He watched Hutch cover the leftovers on the tray, and recalled the roast Hutch had made to cheer him up after Helen died, and the way he’d relished cooking even over the little stove at the cabin on Pine Lake. He couldn’t remember the last time Hutch had been able to putter around in a kitchen of his own.

Hutch had given up a career he loved to follow Starsky on this wild journey. And Starsky was pretty sure he knew exactly why. It was the same reason why Starsky had fired at Bellamy on that dark rooftop so long ago. But it was left unspoken between them, as if putting it to words would break the spell that had enchanted them. If they had a guardian angel watching over them, it was certainly a mischievous one.

Hutch deserved more than cold sandwiches, cramped dressing rooms, and a bed on wheels. What if he could give Hutch the life he had started out to find? The one he hoped to have with Vanessa until she decided being married to a cop held no future. But Hutch wasn’t a cop anymore. He was a celebrity with a comfortable nest egg.

A bothersome thought began buzzing in Starsky’s head, like a fly over-staying its welcome at a picnic. Maybe Hutch had been trying to tell him something with his recent nagging and he’d just been too caught up in living a dream to see it. Maybe Hutch was as ready to slow down as Starsky was starting to think he was, and the nagging was his way of saying it.

Starsky studied his partner’s familiar features from the couch. The wispy blond hair was longer than it had ever been, brushing inches past his collar. The crinkles that had deepened around his eyes only added to their depth and character. A smile tilted Starsky’s lips in spite of himself. His partner was still too attractive for his own good. A great catch by any standard.

Hutch began a search for his favorite belt around the cramped dressing room. A shirt hung off one of the practice guitars propped in a corner and a pair of jeans were draped over the arm of the couch. The heightened voices of intrepid fans, entertainment reporters, and security staff added to the noise in the hall outside their door. They were virtually prisoners until their bus was ready to take them back on the road.

Did they really think they could go on like this forever? Hutch deserved so much more than this fantasy life. Starsky swallowed hard. Hutch had become his white knight, rushing in to slay the monsters and save the day, but maybe it was time they woke up from their dream to face reality.

<><>***<><>

It was a two and a half hour drive through the mountains from Sacramento, California, to Reno, Nevada. But the scenery was lost on Starsky and Hutch as they tried to grab some shut eye. Eight hours of sleep on a regular bed was a memory. Then it seemed as soon as they and their crew had loaded up the buses, they were unloading them again. A modern day gypsy caravan.

Hutch tucked his long legs as best he could under his seat on the bus and picked thoughtfully at the strings of his guitar, working out a tune that had stuck in his head. In another few hours he’d be up on stage singing his heart out for adoring fans. No, that wasn’t quite right. He’d figured out years ago who he was really singing his heart out for.

“Hey, Hutch,” Starsky called out as he clambered in the door of the bus. “You’ll never guess who I ran into.”

That could be any one of hundreds of people he and Starsky seemed to collect wherever they went. Whether it was former brothers in blue, enthusiastic newbies seeking advice, a cousin of a friend of a friend back in Bay City, Starsky tried to make as much time as possible for anyone with a special request to meet Hutch, while still protecting his personal space as far as possible.

Hutch set aside his guitar as he watched Starsky turn to help an attractive woman up into the bus, a cowboy hat perched precariously on her blonde head. He broke into a wide smile as he recognized the face beneath the broad brim—a little older but still pert and pretty. K.C. McBride, the singer/cab driver who, in another lifetime, had helped him chase down a murderer in drag and save Starsky’s life in the process. Yeah, he’d make all the time in the world for her.

Hutch stood and enveloped K.C. warmly in his arms despite the confines of the bus.

“Hi there, K.C. Good to see you!” He released her, then patted the seat and the three of them squished cozily together, with K.C. like the cream filling in the middle of a sandwich cookie. She took in the well-appointed home on wheels and gave a low, slow whistle.

“Impressive. I’d heard you were doing well and now I believe it!”

Hutch gave a little shrug. “It’s home—for now.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. As fancy as these things can get, they’re still on four wheels. I bought a little place here in Reno, myself. Hell, it took me six months to stop feelin’ like my bed was moving every time I laid down,” she said with a hearty laugh.

Same old K.C. Determined to see the bright side of everything.

“You live here in Reno?” Starsky asked.

“I played on the road for a long time—and had a great time doin’ it—but when one of the clubs here offered me a long-term gig, I jumped at it. Touring was fun while it lasted but I’ve always wanted a real home. Ever since I was a little girl I dreamed of somewhere to belong,” she mused. “Wheels can’t grow roots, ya know.”

“Ya, I remember how you used to talk back when we were killin’ time in those cabs.” Starsky filled in. “How you wished life could be as happy as a fifties musical.”

K.C. blushed. “Ya sure tell a lot of silly stories when you’re sittn’ around bored as hell.”

“Not so silly,” Starsky countered softly.

“Besides, it was time,” K.C. finished. “Sometimes, when you know, you know.” The words rolled off her tongue fancifully, as if she was indeed about to break in to an Irving Berlin song.

Hutch nodded. “I don’t blame you.” His simple response revealed how much he read between the lines and held a fistful of longing of its own.

K.C. continued to fill them in her journey to semi-stardom in the music business. Her music gigs had slowly increased in number from town to town and began to pay enough that she left her side jobs like cab driving behind. When she was hired to sing backup on tour with a top country artist, she realized that was as close as she wanted to get to super stardom. She saw first hand the toll the pace, pressure, and Prozac took on a personal level. But she characteristically took the good with the bad, banking as much as she could before taking the opportunity to settle in Reno.

“It’s the biggest little city in the world.” Her laugh was like tiny bubbles in a glass of champagne. It tickled their noses and they laughed along with her. “What about you two? How’d you end up in like this, other than what I’ve read in the magazines, I mean?”

“Maybe you inspired us to follow our dreams.” Starsky gave her a devastating smile as he took her hand in his. He was a first class charmer.

Not to be outdone, Hutch lifted her other hand and wrapped his fingers warmly around hers. She looked from one to the other, then pulled her hands away with a snort. “After all this time in the business, you don’t think I know a snow job when it’s cold out?”

She got up and straightened her hat. “It’s been great to see you guys, but Hutch has a show to do.” She pulled a ticket out of the pocket of her denim vest and waved it in front of them. “And I have a fifth row seat, courtesy of my friends at the local radio station.”

 

From his spot backstage, Starsky could just make out K.C. a few rows back, standing and clapping along with the upbeat tunes, swaying from side to side when the songs became more soulful. He thought there was a time or two Hutch had been singing directly to the bubbly blonde and his belly gave a strange little flop at the thought.

It had been a long time since he’d felt jealous. They’d buried that hatchet long ago when they’d walked away from another blonde, their arms flung across each other’s shoulders in solidarity. They’d sworn they’d never fight over another woman again, but this feeling was different.

Starsky had felt for a while now that Hutch deserved more than life on the road baby-sitting a broken down partner. He sighed at the thought. K.C. and Hutch were a lot alike. Warm and giving. Bound by the fraternity of musicians with their romantic souls. Hutch should have what she had found. A place to belong. Somewhere to fit in. How much more could he expect Hutch to give?

They were both tired. They could see it in each other’s eyes. Maybe it was time for them, too.

To be continued….


	2. Chapter 2

Starsky stretched out on the hotel room’s luxurious, over-sized bed—a treat he planned to take full advantage of since they had a four-day break before resuming their typically frenetic schedule. He splayed his arms wide, felt the familiar tug of scar tissue and held in a grunt before drawing his palms under the back of his head.

Hutch came out of the bathroom towel-drying his hair and Starsky’s eyes drifted appreciatively over his bare chest and carved biceps. Hutch was as fit and trim as ever. The attributes that had mesmerized all manner of street people and turned informants to putty had done the same to audiences of all ages across the country.

The shirtless man before him enchanted a stadium of thousands with his effortless charm. Now that magnetism narrowed down like a beam of light to focus solely on Starsky. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized how much he wanted to keep it that way. He willingly shared one part of Hutch with his adoring fans, but this other more intimate part he wanted to hold to himself.

It seemed Hutch had been born to do two things—be a cop and sing. More and more since Starsky had woken up from his coma to see Hutch across the sterile hospital room, Starsky felt he had died and come back to life to do just one. Love Hutch. Exclusive of all others. Whatever that meant. Where ever that lead.

Hutch had done everything Starsky had ever asked of him. Devotedly. Unselfishly. If Starsky wanted Hutch to stay on the road indefinitely, Starsky had no doubt he would. Even as he wolfed down cold sandwiches in a cramped dressing room, even as he looked wistfully through the tinted windows of the tour bus at the cozy houses passing by. Even as his eyes lingered on an effervescent blonde in row five.

Something pulled at Starsky’s gut causing a sharp pain and this time it wasn’t scar tissue. Hutch’s unique effect on him hadn’t diminished with the years, but ever since he’d seen Hutch watching K.C. from on stage, an idea had lodged itself in the space between his ears and he couldn’t shake it lose. If Starsky had a chance to give Hutch back the life he’d stolen away, he would do it. Hutch had served his time. It was time to open the door to the song bird’s cage.

Some days the choices love gave him were easier than others.

Starsky swallowed down the same little flutter he’d felt when watching his old friend on stage. “K.C.’s a great girl, isn’t she?”

“She is at that.”

“I was thinking we should invite her to dinner or something.” Starsky’s tongue felt thick in his mouth but he nevertheless finished the phrase he’d been practicing silently all evening. “Give us all a chance to catch up on old times.”

 

It was Hutch’s turn to take in Starsky stretched out on the bed. His casual grace had always reminded Hutch of an alley cat. The contrast of the luxurious bedding against the work-worn denim made him seem even less domesticated than usual. Money and fame hadn’t changed him. He still wore his jeans too tight and preferred a chili dog to filet mignon.

“Sure. Sounds good, Starsk. Why don’t you give her a call?”

Hutch sank down on the bed next to Starsky and felt the other man tense fractionally. The small movement stung him, like a band aid being ripped away from a wound. Hutch’s deductive senses snapped on as though by a switch.

He placed his hand on the back of Starsky’s neck to feel for tension and began a deep massage with fingers strengthened by hours spent playing his guitar. It only took a few seconds for a purr-like hum to reverberate in Starsky’s throat. But like a wily animal tempted yet wise to a trap, he seemed oddly guarded.

“Have you been feeling okay?” Hutch asked.

“You ask that same question just about every day,” Starsky shot back. He stretched his neck to the left allowing Hutch more access to knead deep tissues.

“Because you never give me a straight answer.”

Hutch knew he’d never fully comprehend what it took for Starsky to come this far, just like Starsky could never comprehend the fear Hutch felt when he thought his partner might not survive. He still lurched awake in the middle of the night to the echo of gunfire, the robotic beep of a heart monitor. Hutch knew he could never go through losing Starsky again and come out sane.

Starsky had never liked being mothered. Whenever he was suffering—mentally or physically—he tended to pull away. It was another thing he had in common with wild things. But Hutch had made it clear—just as he had when Starsky wanted to confront Prudhome alone—he wouldn’t allow it. Still, Hutch knew, even after all this time, he’d have to push his partner since Starsky wouldn’t let him breach his defenses easily.

Starsky and K.C. had fallen into a friendship quickly and effortlessly back when Starsky had worked that undercover gig as a cabbie. At the time, Hutch had fought an uncomfortable jealousy at the image of K.C. serenading Starsky under the streetlights in the cozy front seat of the cab. But after they’d caught a killer with K.C.’s help, they’d amicably drifted apart like so many others they’d met on cases, and the status quo was restored.

But the uncomfortable feeling had returned when he’d caught Starsky studying K.C. from back stage with a curious look on his face. His expression was hard to read in the shadows. Pain mixed with wistfulness, and a kind of secret longing.

Why would Starsky feel the need to hide something from him? They’d been through everything together. From their awkward rookie years when they’d been so eager to prove themselves, to finally just wanting to survive another day. They’d seen one another hold dying friends and lovers in their arms and then they’d held each other.

Hutch felt the tension in Starsky’s body. Felt the tiny gasp he held in as he turned on his side. Normally, Hutch’s massages worked magic but tonight was different. Starsky was holding back.

Starsky would never admit that he was tired or hurting because then Hutch would stop going on the road. And Starsky didn’t want him to stop. Starsky thought he knew how much Hutch loved singing. But how could Hutch make him understand he loved Starsky more?

It was K.C. That had to be it. Old feelings never acted upon had been reignited. Hutch couldn’t blame Starsky for being attracted to her. She was pretty, sure, but she was more than that. She was friendly and spunky and sure of herself. Not waiting for a man to sweep her off her feet. She seemed to do her own sweeping quite well.

She and Starsky would make a great couple. And Hutch would step willing out of the way.

Hutch withdrew his hands and got up from the bed. “Sure, Starsk. Dinner. That sounds great. Catch up on old times.”

 

When Hutch’s hand left Starsky’s shoulder he felt bereft. He’d turned on his side away from Hutch during his ministrations and stayed that way. He could play a thousand roles under cover with ease, but to be disingenuous with his partner took super-human effort.

Starsky remembered how he’d gone behind Hutch’s back to find out the truth about Gillian. How he’d emptied his bank account to encourage her to leave, knowing their relationship would destroy them both.

He was only half right. Gillian had ended up dead while Hutch had fallen into Starsky’s arms. They’d clung to each other as if reaching into each other’s skin. As if both their hearts had broken and only pieces of each other could bind the wounds. Another tragedy they’d survived together.

Yeah, he’d do it again. He’d do anything he had to make things right. Even if it meant letting him go.

<<><>***<><>

Back in 1928, Reno pronounced itself the biggest little city in the world. In the decades since, its gambling halls did their best to compete with its brasher cousin, Las Vegas, in break-neck efforts to build ever bigger and more glitzy structures to catch the tourists’ eyes. Eventually Las Vegas became the undisputed gambling mecca, catering to a transient crowd, as Reno clung to its roots and community-feel.

Although gambling continued to be a big draw, tourists now were just as attracted to the rugged scenery and nearby ski resorts. Investments were being made in the downtown area that focuses on local businesses and not just big name casinos.

Starsky and Hutch spent the next few days taking in the sights with K.C. As they made their way through the streets, Hutch felt like he was back undercover, hiding his well-known features under a large cowboy hat, sunglasses, and the flipped up collar of his jeans jacket. It made him feel comfortable yet strange at the same time. It was good to relax with someone who remembered them from when they were just Starsky and Hutch, not Ken Hutchinson, music star and his dedicated manager.

Starsky seemed to relax, too, sharing stories with K.C. to make her laugh. Then he’d laugh, too, at the way she’d slap her thigh and squawk “No! You’re kidding,” as his tales grew more and more outrageous.

One evening a cab dropped Starsky and Hutch off at Sisters, the little dinner club K.C. had invited them to. K.C. had told them about the owners, sisters who had been Vegas entertainers years ago and had rubbed elbows, along with various other parts, with the Rat Pack and their ilk in their heyday.

K.C. had explained that Mae and June were like aunties to K.C. They had taken her under their wings when she first came to Reno and she had seemed thrilled at the prospect of introducing her friends to each other.

As Starsky and Hutch entered, they instinctively cased the dimly lit joint. But then they caught each other’s furtive glances and laughed at themselves. Starsky reached over and fondly caressed the back of Hutch’s neck.

“You can put a cop out to pasture…” He spoke softly into Hutch’s ear.

“But you can’t keep him from eyein’ the bulls…”

The atmosphere felt welcoming yet slightly naughty, too. The substantial bar was made out of a severely laminated natural oak slab and lined with wicker stools. Plants hung everywhere and a tree seemed to be growing right in the middle of the small dance floor and in front of a slightly larger stage. More natural wood tables lit by mason jar candles gave an ethereal glow to the plant and human life clustered around the main room.

There was distinct lack of slot machines and the thinly disguised security guards that graced most of Reno’s clubs. Starsky could tell Hutch loved the place and smiled as his partner became distracted by a bounteous Boston fern hanging from an oak beam. The relaxed atmosphere made Starsky breathe easier and gave him a small boost of confidence for the business that lay ahead of him.

Starsky chuckled at Hutch’s focus on the fern, then spotted K.C. chatting animatedly with the bartender, an attractive, red-headed woman in a cowboy hat and a green t-shirt sporting the words, Love The Earth. Starsky walked up to K.C. and tapped her on the shoulder, causing her to turn away from the red head. He gave her a warm embrace and brotherly peck on the cheek then turned back to Hutch.

The barkeep and K.C. both grinned as Starsky made a show of dragging Hutch’s attention away from his new leafy friend.

“She’s beautiful, Starsk,” Hutch murmured as he gazed at the plant but then turned to see K.C. lifting an eyebrow at him.

“You talkin’ about little ol’ me, sugar?” K.C. layered her accent on thick, obviously enjoying Hutch’s shy look and barely there blush.

“If the leaf fits,” he joked lamely.

Starsky gave him a light punch in the arm. “Don’t embarrass me, blondie. Can’t take you anywhere.”

“You know you’re beautiful, lady.” Hutch laughed as he hugged K.C. tightly and dragged her off her stool. He held her off the floor, evoking a small squeal of delight from the petite woman and a deep exhalation from the bartender. Starsky swallowed as he watched Hutch press his lips to K.C’s flushed skin.

“This is Whimsy,” K.C. indicated the redhead behind the bar as Hutch kept his arm wrapped around K.C. “Whimsy, this is Ken Hutchinson and David Starsky. They’re old friends of mine.”

Excitement lit up the barkeep’s lightly freckled face, but K.C. quickly interceded. “They’d like to keep attention to a minimum, if you don’t mind.”

Just then two women appeared from somewhere in the back, interrupting their animated greetings. They looked to be in their fifties, with formally styled golden hair and similarly sparkling eyes, one set blue, one set brown. Their shapely hips swayed beneath breathtaking and obviously expensive, baby blue sequined Dior gowns as they made their way to the bar and their alluring presence seemed to draw all the candlelight and eyes in the room.

“Unhand that maiden, sir!” The taller of the two women directed Hutch.

“Those boots were made for walkin’, Sir Knight,” quipped the smaller blue goddess. “She can do that fine on her own.”

Hutch put K.C. down and she playfully slapped his hands away. “Behave, you two, and let me introduce the owners of this fine establishment, Mae and June.” K.C indicated which woman was which with a flourish of her hand. “Mae, June, meet my dear friends, Dave Starsky and Ken Hutchinson.”

The two ladies offered blue satin-gloved hands to the partners in turn. Starsky and Hutch took the offered hands and lifted them to their lips, pressing a hint of a kiss on each.

“Well, well. Handsome and genteel. What a deadly combo,” commented the taller woman K.C. had identified as Mae approvingly.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, boys,” added June in a voice that held a musical lilt.

“Whimsy,” Mae addressed the bartender. “Please see K.C. and her gorgeous guests to the V.I.P. table. Drinks are on the house. Now, please excuse us,” she turned back to Starsky and Hutch. “We have to get ready for our number”.

Whimsy nearly jumped the bar trying to get to Hutch. “No problem, Mae.” She beamed at Hutch and took his arm, nearly dragging him to the tables near the stage. Starsky sighed as he heard her begin to tell Hutch what a big fan she was.

K.C. spoke in Starsky’s ear, startling him. “Don’t worry, Hutch couldn’t be safer than he is in here. Whimsy is interested in someone else, but she’s crazy about musicians.”

Starsky, puzzled by her words, took a good look around the club as she directed Starsky to their table. The background noise had a decidedly feminine lilt. The back booths were filled with pairs of women, some talking quietly to their partners, some holding hands and one couple kissing. A few men were scattered around the tables, but seemed to interact with their companions more platonically than intimately.

Memories of the Green Parrot flew into Starsky’s head. “Ohhhh!” Starsky leaned into whisper to K.C. “Mae and June, they’re not really sisters, are they?”

“Very good, Detective. Guess that badge isn’t so rusty after all. Sisters is a gay club on the feminine side. Mae and June have been life partners for years, but because of the times they lived in, told everyone they were sisters. They don’t hide any more, but they’re still afraid to open up to strangers. Painful memories keep them partially in the closet even now. They always tell me how they admire the new generation’s openness and pride.”

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” she asked carefully.

Starsky looked at K.C. and realized her open mindedness was another reason she was so easy to be with. His work as a detective had challenged many of his beliefs about right and wrong. He’d realized the lines between them weren’t always so clear cut.

He’d seen enough of life’s ugliness to learn to appreciate beauty in the most unlikely places. And he’d concluded that love was definitely a beautiful thing. Love between a husband and wife, between a parent and child, between brothers, between partners….

Starsky felt K.C. squeeze his hand and he blinked as they joined Hutch at the table. Hutch, finishing up with an autograph for Whimsy on a Sisters cocktail napkin, noticed and caught Starsky’s eye.

Starsky saw a hint of pain cross Hutch’s face just before he turned away to give Whimsy a brief hug and an even briefer kiss. Was Hutch jealous? If he was, Starsky had to make sure Hutch knew he had no interest in K.C. He chuckled a bit to himself, knowing that it was absolutely true.

The trio settled down with K.C. in the middle and beers all around. The stage lights came up and the fabulous Mae and June electrified the audience with their campy song and dance routine. The enthusiastic crowd hooted and whistled and the ladies in blue clearly loved every moment.


	3. Chapter 3

Starsky pulled the Corvette into a parking space near the entrance of the ski lodge. It was opportunity rather than luck that created the convenient spot, since the normally full lot was nearly empty. Hutch pointed out K.C.’s car with its Nevada plates parked nearby. But Starsky was looking toward the entrance of the lodge with a frown.

“Something’s missing,” he announced.

“You mean, besides guests?” Hutch asked.

“Yeah. No decorations. No wreaths on the doors. Nothin.'” Starsky had expected there would be some changes to the place without Edith’s steady hand on the helm, but the lack of Christmas decorations made him cringe.

“His first Christmas without Edith has to be hard. Maybe we could give him a hand,” Hutch suggested.

It only took a moment for Starsky to light up at the idea. “Yeah! We could do it up proud. A little garland here, a little tinsel there. Just like old times at the department!”

Hutch smiled. It was nice to see Starsky finally excited about something, although personally, Hutch didn’t have much interest in decking the halls this year either.

Just as he lifted his hand to knock on the heavy oak entrance, the door burst open and a beautiful, dark-skinned woman in a tailored business suit appeared, squealing like a little girl.

“Uncle Dave! Uncle Ken! You’re finally here!”

Both men laughed as they stepped in the foyer then took turns bundling an all grown up ‘little Rosie’ in their arms.

Starsky cupped her cheek and brushed away a happy tear. “Oh, Rosie. You get more beautiful every time I see ya!”

Hutch rubbed circles in her back. “How’s our favorite girl? You look great!”

“Thanks, you two.” Rosie made an unconsciously feminine gesture of putting her hand to her hair. “But look at you!”

She stepped back to take them both in, then gave a little frown. “Fame must not be as fabulous as it sounds. You both seem a little thinner then when I last saw you,” she commented, sounding more than a bit like her mother, as Starsky and Hutch traded self-conscious looks. “But nothing some home cooking won’t fix.”

A shadow briefly fell over Rosie’s face as their collective thoughts went momentarily to the woman whose tasty menus had helped making the Dobey Lodge famous. But then the shadow was banished in the pleasure of their reunion.

Starsky and Hutch followed her into the expansive yet homey kitchen where they found Captain Dobey and K.C. sitting at a prep table enjoying ham sandwiches on freshly-baked bread.

“Look who I found stumbling around outside,” Rosie announced with a dimpled grin.

“Starsky! Hutch!” K.C. dropped her sandwich on her plate and stood to give them each a hug.

Captain Dobey stood and stuck out his hand. “I was wondering if you two clowns were going to make it this year.”

Starsky took hold of the once beefy paw but then quickly pulled his former superior into a full bear hug. When they broke apart, they eyed one another with the keen appraisal of the cops they had been. The once robust captain of detectives seemed practically small and Starsky felt self-conscious in the tight-fitting jeans that now hung off his hips loosely. They knew each other well enough to recognize the concern mirrored in the other’s eyes.

Hutch interrupted the awkward silence to pull Dobey into a hug of his own.

“It’s great to see you again,” Dobey said as he regained his composure. “No need to ask what you’ve been up to. You’re in all the music rags.”

“You look great, Captain. And this place…” Starsky started but then Dobey held up a hand.

“Don’t kid a kidder, son. This place is suffering from a… slow period and I guess I am, too.” He cleared his throat. “But don’t worry, it’s going to snow any day now and things will pick up. You’ll see. Don’t worry about this old man.” Dobey dropped his voice a little and leaned in toward them conspiratorially as if Rosie and K.C. couldn’t hear. “Oh, and we kind of keep the captain title quiet. Scares the natives.”

Hutch laughed politely. “Sure… um… Harold. Whatever you say.”

“Rosie? Why don’t you show these meatheads to their rooms. Then come back down here and we’ll rustle you up some grub.”

“Sure, Dad,” Rosie replied.

Dobey picked up a bag of garbage from underneath the counter. He raised it and smiled, if a bit ironically. “Duty calls.”

 

“It’s hard to see the old man so down,” Starsky said as he licked the last of the mayonnaise off his fingers. Once they’d put their luggage away, Rosie had been quick to fix them cold meatloaf sandwiches, which they readily devoured.

K.C. propped her elbows on the butcher block counter and put her chin in her hands. “I didn’t really want to take his money for doing a show to an empty house,” she said. “But he insisted.”

“He’s always been stubborn like that,” Hutch added from K.C.’s other side.

“And prideful,” noted Rosie. “I know for a fact he’s been late on the mortgage twice, but won’t take a dime from me or Cal. He’s running the place with a skeletal staff, and most of them could get better paying jobs elsewhere. They’re only staying on out of loyalty to my dad.” She sat her glass of milk down a little harder than necessary.

“So there’s no point in offering financial help,” Hutch suggested and countermanded at the same time.

“It’s not just the money, guys.” Rosie let out a sigh. “Ever since Mom died, it’s like the heart has gone out of this place. The magic. You know?” She looked at each one of them in turn for understanding.

“Yeah, we know, honey,” K.C. agreed. “Not that I knew your mom all that well, but from the few times I’ve met her when I’ve played here, I could tell the love between Harold and Edith was the real deal.”

Something tweaked in Starsky’s heart at her words. “As many times as Dobey backed us up when we were cops, there’s gotta be something we could do for him now. Something to lift his spirits,” he said.

“It wasn’t just us he backed up, it was everyone. The whole department. And even people like Huggy,” Hutch reminded them.

Starsky grinned. “Yeah, as hard a time as Huggy gave him, Cap treated Hug like he was part ‘a the team.

“Good old Hug.” Hutch gave a little laugh at the memories the name evoked.

Suddenly, K.C. snapped her fingers and straightened. “Why don’t you call him and see if he could round up some of the guys from the department and their families for the Christmas Eve show. Really pack the place. That would show Harold how much he still means to everyone. He can’t just give up living.”

K.C.’s optimism spread from one to the other of the tiny group like a small brush fire, starting with Starsky. “We’d have to keep it a secret,” he said. “If the captain knew what we were up to, he might not go for it. Dobey sure can be stubborn.”

“A surprise! That would be perfect!” Rosie exclaimed, her face lighting up. “But do you think Huggy could arrange it? It’s pretty short notice.”

“Sure he could; doncha think, Hutch?” Starsky turned to his partner.

Hutch could practically see the wheels spin in Starsky’s head, just like back in the days when they worked together undercover.

“He always came through for us before,” Hutch said. “If you can keep Dobey distracted for a few minutes, I’ll give him a call right now.” He looked around at the little circle of conspirators. The anticipation on their faces was enough to warm the chill in his heart, if only a few degrees.

“That I can do,” Rosie stated. She retrieved a left-over cherry pie from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. “Daddy never could turn down cherry pie.”

She began to dish it out as Hutch left for the phone down the hall.

 

Along with the bridal suite and family rooms, the Dobey Lodge had several cozy single rooms. It was another of Edith’s ideas to have the singles face a huge common room to encourage socializing among the guests.

The common room was designed in a circular arrangement with a huge open plan fire pit in the middle. A cluster of club chairs and ottomans were placed near the fire pit allowing for the toasting of wieners and frozen toes after a day of skiing or hiking through the woods. Ample built-in seating lined floor to ceiling windows that held a picture perfect view of the slopes.

When the winter snow dusted the pines and drifted high on the mountains, the view was reminiscent of a Currier and Ives Christmas card. Now, however, with the unseasonably warm weather, the scenery appeared desolate and lonely.

The common room also had a small self-serve snack bar where a limited amount of hot drinks and sandwiches were available free to all guests. It was open twenty-four hours, giving midnight munchers a place to gather and enjoy popcorn and poppers for the fire or hot cocoa with marshmallows to coax them to sleep.

A short staircase led down to the sunken formal dining room. Tables for two, four, and six surrounded the dance floor and stage. The table linens and coordinating chair upholstery were a tasteful cobalt blue and silver. The silver highlights sparkled like moon dust under the subdued overhead lighting.

A mirrored ball hung above the oak dance floor waiting patiently for disco to return for one more night. Soft, blue glazed lights illuminated the stage area, providing just the right setting for torch songs and intimate guitar solos. Behind the stage, a window wall was covered by blue velvet drapery that could be pulled back to reveal a majestic view of the countryside.

Once the groundwork for their conspiracy had been laid, pies finished and calls placed, Starsky, Hutch, K.C. and Rosie rewarded themselves by relaxing by the fire until their friendly conversation shifted into contagious yawning.

“I think it’s time for me to hit the hay, boys and girls,” K.C. was the first to stand and announce.

“I guess I’ll do the same.” Hutch stood a second after her, placed his hands on his hips and arched his back.

Starsky felt Rosie move to stand as well, but discreetly held her back by the elbow as Hutch and K.C. climbed in tandem up the wide, freestanding spiral staircase. Hutch leaned in to whisper something in K.C.’s ear at the top of the stairs as Starsky and Rosie watched unobtrusively from below. They saw K.C. smile at whatever it was he had said, then touch his cheek. Hutch spoke softly once more, then K.C. rose on tip-toe to kiss the other side of his face before heading toward her room.

Hutch looked back down the stairs and Starsky knew he realized their interaction had been caught when Hutch waved an awkward goodnight.

“Those two sure looked awfully cozy,” Rosie commented. “What’s going on, Uncle Dave? Don’t tell me they’re in a relationship.”

Starsky didn’t miss her disbelieving tone. She knew them well. Although she’d seen previous girlfriends come and go, even Rosie was aware there hadn’t been anyone special in either of their lives for years.

But that was about to change, if Starsky had anything to do with it. “Not yet, but maybe it’s time they were. Sure the music business is great and all, but it’s not really what your Uncle Ken wanted to do with his life. He only did it for me.”

Starsky could tell by looking at her pretty face, focused so intently on his, that he wasn’t telling Rosie anything she didn’t already suspect. “I want him to have the chance to settle down with a wife and family before he misses out. We’re not getting any younger, you know.”

Rosie smiled at him reassuringly. “You two have had more lives that a clowder of cats. You’ll live forever,” she said.

Starsky couldn’t disagree they’d lived through more than most. But that was because they’d done it together. He turned to stare into the large pit where the fire was slowly dying out, leaving phosphorescent cinders behind.

“No one lives forever, Rosie. It’s time I gave Hutch his life back, or what’s left of it. The part he sacrificed for me.” Starsky hadn’t meant to turn their happy reunion somber but he couldn’t keep away the melancholy that engulfed him.

“I want to see him happily married with a couple of blond-headed kiddies running around. That’ll never happen if he stays on the road with no one but his beat-up old partner for company.”

“Uncle Dave, are you playing matchmaker?” Rosie smirked and jabbed his ribs lightly with her elbow. He knew she was trying to distract him from the ache he must surely be emitting.

“Just keep that our little secret.” He forced a smile.

“Two secrets in one night. I adore secrets. Count me in!” Rosie laughed.

 

Though Starsky had sat up into the wee hours of the morning planning a second conspiracy with Rosie, he was still first to rise. He doubted he’d slept more than two hours with so much on his mind.

Since the lodge was unusually empty, he and Hutch had been given separate rooms. It was a good thing, he mused, because Hutch would have mother-henned him to death if he knew that not only wasn’t he sleeping but he’d stashed some very unhealthy, greasy, salty junk food and root beer in his night stand, hoping it might help him to think.

Starsky went across the hall and knocked lightly on Hutch’s door then tested the handle to see if it was locked. When he found it wasn’t, he swallowed hard, pasted a smile on his face and barged in without waiting for a response to his knock.

“Rise and shine, my blond beauty! We’re burnin’ daylight and we got Christmas shoppin’ to do,” Starsky announced as he opened the blinds to let in the light. Starsky shook his head at the clear sky without a hint of snow clouds. It looked to be the beginning of another unseasonably warm day.

Starsky turned back to the bed then and admired the sight of a rumpled Hutch with his head still half under the covers. The California sun peeking from behind tall pines reminded Starsky of his enigmatic partner in a way. In a formal tux or dressed for the stage, Hutch was a heart-stopping sight, but this was the Hutch few people saw—in his oldest, softest green t-shirt and jogging shorts fresh from dreamland. It was the way Starsky loved him best. Disheveled and a little bewildered. Like one of Peter Pan’s lost boys.

Starsky exhaled and forced himself to look elsewhere so he could bring his focus back to his plan for the day ahead.

“Come on, blintz. By the time you shower and get done primpin’ in the mirror, the girls will be done with breakfast. I’m hungry. Come. On. Get. Up.” Starsky reached over and pulled the covers away from Hutch’s curled form.

“Wha’? Wha’ we doin’? Why are the girls waiting? What you up to?” Hutch opened one eye suspiciously.

“Rosie, K.C., me, and thee are goin’ shoppin’ for decorations and a real Christmas tree.”

Starsky strolled to the window and thumped on his chest as if taking a deep breath of fresh air, gratified he was able to hang onto a wheeze. “Oh, boy, Hutch. I can’t wait to get out there and smell the fresh pine and search for just the right tinsel garland, decorations, and stocking stuffers.”

“I’d like to stuff a stocking in your big mouth,” Hutch muttered.

Starsky watched as Hutch finally connected his brain to his legs and rolled out of bed. He stopped on the way to the shower and touched Starsky’s arm. “Sorry, buddy. I love what you’re doing for Dobey. I want to help all I can. I’ll be out in a minute. Sit down and put your feet up; you look tired, babe.”

Starsky’s resolve shook like a tin sign in a hurricane. No matter how long they’d known each other, Hutch always had a way of surprising him. He didn’t want that to end. Not at all. He sat on the bed and pulled the still warm, sleep wrinkled covers close. The thought of never feeling that singular warmth against his skin or hearing that heaven-sent voice crooning in the shower again made his very soul ache.

He fought the urge to give in to selfishness and change his mind. During his few hours of sleep, he’d dreamed that with just a quiet word in Hutch’s ear, a touch on his shoulder, Hutch would swear to never leave him. Starsky sighed knowing that was just why he had to let him go.

He gathered his resolve around him like the covers until he heard Hutch shut off the water and start to hum as he shaved.

 

The ride to town was as nerve wracking as any Hutch had spent riding shotgun in the Torino as Rosie maneuvered her dad’s Jeep over the rugged country roads. They’d opted for the Jeep. As much as Starsky loved Christmas and all its trappings, the thought of a Scotch Pine with its sticky sap and sharp needles tied to the top of his Corvette was more than he could bear. So Hutch didn’t complain when Rosie hit another bump in the road and his head on the roof yet again.

At first, Starsky insisted Hutch get in the back seat with K.C., but his mile-long legs over-ruled him. Starsky ended up with an arm around K.C. after the first bump in the road. Although that fit perfectly with Hutch’s plan, he winced inwardly at the tightness in his voice when he turned and asked, “You guys cozy?” He hated how he sounded almost jealous.

The Christmas tree lot was bustling despite the unseasonable weather. Just like every other year, it had been set up on the empty lot wedged in between the hardware store and a small insurance sales office.

“How about we split up,” Starsky suggested. “We can cover more ground that way. Hutch, K.C., you pick out the tree and wreaths, while Rosie takes me decoration shopping.”

Hutch tried to object but Starsky chided him. “Geez, Mr. Scrooge. Way to ruin a surprise. I need some time to shop for you two, all right?”

“Okay, Starsk. We’ll meet you back here in an hour.” Hutch didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t the splitting up he minded, but rather the choice of teams. He placed a hand on the small of K.C.’s back and led her through fresh cut trees.

Starsky paused overlong to watch them before Rosie took his hand and squeezed.

The small town had grown up since the first time Starsky and Hutch had rolled into the dusty old gas station in Hutch’s rusty old Ford so many years ago. The roads were paved now. The vintage gas station sprouted a new ARCO sign and an attached convenience store. The general store was a supermarket. The hardware store, where Starsky and Rosie were headed, was about the size of the high school’s football field.

The Sheriff was now the Police Chief and in place of the antiquated jailhouse was a black and white cement block and glass building housing the Pine Lake Police Department complete with four officers, two cruisers, and a desk sergeant.

There were two quality restaurants and a country western bar on the main drag. Starsky’s favorite, the Tinhorn Inn, was a family style burger joint with a small, friendly beer-only bar. The other, Whole Earth Eatery and health food store, was Hutch’s. It also had a bar that specialized in carrot juice frappe’. The partners had delighted in torturing each other as they’d take turns eating at each whenever they were in town.

After visiting Dobey’s cabin numerous times over the years, Starsky and Hutch had become practically fixtures in the town. Hutch had played at the country western bar when he still had training wheels on his guitar, as Starsky liked to say. Then, as Hutch’s popularity and fame grew, the locals continued to respect their privacy. Especially since they felt they owed them an enormous debt.

Hutch wasn’t the least surprised when the young man overseeing the Christmas tree lot came up to him and shook his hand.

“Hey there, Hutch! How are you doing? Happy Holidays! Who’s this gorgeous lady?”

“Nice to see you again, Bob. May I introduce the lovely and talented K.C. McBride. She’s playing at Dobey’s ski lodge.”

Bob nodded to her with a toothy smile as Hutch went on. “We’re planning a big bash on Christmas Eve. It’s K.C.’s show but she might let me slip in a few songs here and there. We’d be grateful if you’d spread the word around.”

“I’d be glad to. If we can find a sitter, the wife and I will be there. “

Hutch turned to K.C. “Bob here is married to the Police Chief’s daughter.”

“The daughter you and Starsky saved from Satanists,” Bob clarified as he hitched up his jeans. “A big star and still is so modest.” He winked at K.C. “Hey listen, any tree on the lot half price for you two. And check out our red barn flea market in the back. Lots of handmade crafts for gifts.”

Just then a young boy let out a squeal. Bob’s face turned red.

“Merry Christmas,” he called out hurriedly as he went to chase down his two young boys who were playing a version of tag under the trees that seemed to include screaming and tripping the customers.

K.C. turned to Hutch with big round eyes. “Satanists?” she squeaked.

Hutch shook his head. “Long story from a long time ago. More a Halloween ghost story than a Christmas tale.”

Bob’s rambunctious boys ran into K.C. before diving further into the line of trees. She laughed and watched Bob pull off his cowboy hat and slap it on his thigh in exasperation.

They wandered away through the rows of trees, carefully examining each one and debating the perfection of their size, shape, and needle texture.

Then Hutch suddenly cleared his throat. Here was his opportunity at hand. “So you like kids? Ever think of having any?”

K.C. frowned briefly at the odd turn of conversation. “Actually, I always thought I would adopt when the time was right. There are already so many children that need a loving home.”

Hutch smiled. She’d struck just the right chord. “Starsky loves kids. He’d make a great father. I used to be a big brother to two kids, Kiko and Molly Ramos. Starsky would help me out with them all the time. Kiko became a cop. Molly’s an actress. Starsk influenced a lot of kid’s lives, not just Rosie and Cal Dobey.”

“Ken, you really are modest. I’m sure you influenced their lives, too.” She pushed away a tree branch that had grabbed at her hair.

“I guess, but Starsky is so… Starsky.” Hutch picked out a pine needle from the blond wave thoughtfully. “He’s loving and caring, but at the same time he’s strong and fiercely loyal. He’s the best friend you could ask for and the best man I know.”

“You two are really something, you know that?” K.C. adjusted her hat that the tree had knocked askew and looked him in the eye with such intensity he had to turn away. In addition to all her other special qualities, Hutch could tell K.C. was quite perceptive in her ability to size people up.

“No one could do better than being in a permanent relationship with Starsky. Anyone who loved Starsky would be truly blessed.” He knew he sounded corny, but every word was true. Their time here was short and it was imperative he make the most of it.

K.C. took Hutch’s arm and patted it. “I know that, sugar. I know that.” She looked as though she might say something else, but then sputtered, “Let’s check out the barn, okay?”

When K.C. changed the subject, Hutch wondered if he shouldn’t have just come out and said it: Marry Starsky so he’ll get off the road. I’m afraid this life will finish what Gunther started. If anyone could make him happy, you could.

But the words froze on his tongue, rendering it as useless as the first time he had faced an audience.

“Shall we go Christmas shopping for a little while before we pick out the tree?” she urged him again.

Hutch nodded, wondering if he’d gotten through at all.

 

By late afternoon, the perfect tree was tied to the top of the Jeep and various packages, wreaths, pine garlands, and boxes and boxes of ornaments were stashed in the back cargo area. While they loaded the Jeep, Starsky had hoped to see more signs of a growing attraction between Hutch and K.C. But instead of acting like a man on the brink of love, Hutch seemed discouraged somehow.

On the other hand, K.C. was as effervescent as ever. She and Rosie sat in the back seat this trip, chatting away about costumes and set designs for the upcoming concert. Starsky drove and watched his partner out of the corner of his eye at the same time. This was definitely not a man happily in love. Not yet anyway, Starsky resolved.

“Hutch? You okay?”

Hutch twisted in his seat as if in pain. “Sure, Starsk. It’s just… you know Christmas shopping isn’t my favorite thing to do.”

“You and K.C. have a good time?” His insides burned with anxious curiosity while he worked to keep the question light.

Hutch revealed nothing. “We met up with Bob and his kids. And we went to that flea market.”

“Buy anything?”

The old line caused the corners of Hutch’s mouth twitch. “Not telling.”

“Oh. Oh! You bought me somethin’, didn’t ya? What is it, huh?”

K.C. stopped chatting with Rosie long enough to give Starsky a playful slap on the back of the head. “Hey! Santa only brings good boys presents and you’re straddlin’ the line, sugar.”

Starsky, Rosie, and K.C. all laughed.

Hutch turned to look out the window.

When Starsky saw the beloved blond head turn away, the laughter died on his lips.

<><>***<><>

Rosie found her father holed up in his office, rifling through a stack of bills as large as the stack of Christmas cards he’d pushed to the side.

“Come look at how the guys have decorated the place,” she urged him.

Harold Dobey sighed and leaned back in the old chair. It gave a groan of protest.

“I appreciate how you all are trying to brighten the place up but I’m afraid I don’t have much Christmas spirit this year.”

Behind the large desk Rosie thought her once imposing father now looked more like a lost boy. She swallowed hard. “I miss her, too, Dad.”

Dobey lay the papers down, stood up and came around to envelope her in a hug. “Of course you do, Rosie girl.” For a few minutes she let her father’s strong arms warm her just as they had as a child. But then she pushed him gently away.

“Mom wouldn’t want us to be down. Especially at Christmas. No matter what else was happening, she always made it such a happy time. And that’s what she’d want us to do now,” she convicted him.

“I know that. But sometimes… it’s hard. When I lost your mother, I lost a little piece of my soul.” Dobey looked down at her, and a light seemed to reflect from his face. “Nothing is as powerful as true love, Rosie. Just remember that.”

“There’s still a lot of people who love and need you. Me, and Cal, and…” Rosie caught herself before she gave away too much. Keeping secrets was becoming harder the older she got. Maybe it was because the secrets were becoming more important. Or maybe secrets were just overrated.

“Those bills can wait, Dad,” she said. “Come on out and join the gang.”

His response held a hint of admiration mixed in with the sorrow. “You’re stubborn, you know that?

“I learned form the best.” It wasn’t just Dobey’s suits that needed to be hauled out of mothballs around here, she thought, as she left open the office door.

 

Starsky hadn’t wanted to admit how much manhandling a seven foot pine tree and hanging mistletoe had taken out of him. And without Hutch staying in close quarters with him, nagging him to take his inhalers, making sure he ate right and rested, he was feeling worn down.

Still, he couldn’t sleep. He ached through to his soul. His throat felt dry and the damn phantom pains in his chest were back tonight. He sat on the edge of his bed, feeling stressed and wishing Hutch were there to rub his back and take away his misery—whether the physical or emotional kind he didn’t want to think.

Starsky growled at himself. He needed to get used to going it alone. He decided to wander downstairs and get a snack. He thought of how Hutch sometimes made him tea when he had a bad night. That was certainly something he could handle by himself.

He grabbed his jeans and a worn out flannel shirt that might have once been Hutch’s and gingerly pulled them on. He groaned as he rose and headed to the common room.

He made it halfway down the stairs when he stopped to catch his breath. He hung on with white knuckles to the cold wrought iron banister, while he practiced the breathing techniques Hutch had taught him from the time he took yoga lessons.

While he waited for his breathing to become more regular, he heard the sound of a guitar coming softly from the floor below. He didn’t know the tune, but he couldn’t mistake the player. He knew his Hutch’s strumming like he knew the beating of his own heart.

The music and knowing who was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs gave Starsky’s spirit a needed lift. He released his hold on the banister and shook out the tightness from his hand. He descended the rest of the stairs with slow but more confident steps.

Starsky stopped just before he entered the common room and took in the scene. Hutch was wearing another old flannel shirt Starsky was pretty sure was once his. He had a sudden feeling of deja vu. If not for the stray strands of silver he’d seen in the mirror that morning and the aches and pains in his body now, it could have been 1975 at Hutch’s old house by the canal.

Starsky couldn’t take his eyes off his partner, his old friend. Hutch sat on the brick hearth with his head bent over the rosewood guitar Starsky had given him after crazy Diana smashed his favorite. The embers of an earlier fire bathed Hutch in a molten glow.

Starsky watched as Hutch concentrated on the unfamiliar tune’s lyrics, eyes shut and lips moving silently, just the way he’d watched him compose incredible music so many times before. Hutch’s hand caressed the guitar’s neck. Long fingers moved expertly across the frets creating notes that reached into Starsky’s heart and struck a chord deep within.

“My beautiful blondie.”

Starsky must have spoken aloud because Hutch’s eyes slowly opened. He stopped strumming and looked up, searching the room. Starsky smiled and stepped out of the entry way’s shadows.

“Don’t stop on accounta me, blondie. It sounded real good.”

“It’s something new I was working on. Just foolin’ around.” He smiled sheepishly.

As Starsky stepped further into the dwindling light from the fire, Hutch took in Starsky’s pale appearance.

“Hey, buddy. What are you doing up? You all right?” He set aside his guitar. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Starsky shrugged off the concern. “Could ask you the same thing.”

Hutch deflected the question, stretching out his legs and arms and moaning dramatically. “Been a busy week. Hey, you hungry? I got just the thing.” He stood up and headed to the snack bar.

Starsky carefully slipped his blue jean clad legs and red stocking feet over a stool. He leaned into the counter as his eyes trailed his partner and realized Hutch didn’t miss the hesitant movements.

“You know I have a theory about midnight snacks and dreams,” Hutch said. He produced a platter of sandwiches from the mini-fridge and varied snack size chip bags and placed them on the counter.

“Do you now? Oh, great and wise Hutchini?” Starsky played along, looking over the assortment.

“Sure!” Hutch picked up a tuna sandwich and examined it intently. “Tuna. You dream about a gorgeous blonde with legs that don’t stop.”

Starsky pointed to a ham and Swiss and Hutch turned thoughtful. “Ham and Swiss gets you a brunette bombshell, a little on the scatback side.”

“What the hell does scatback mean?”

Hutch chuckled and scratched his eyebrow. “I… I… don’t know, but Grandpa used to say it about my great aunt Myrtle. She flew a crop duster and never got married.”

Starsky shrugged and let it go. “What about liverwurst?”

“You dream about liverwurst.”

Starsky laughed and threw a bag of corn chips at Hutch.

Hutch laughed along with him then went back to the microwave to heat water for hot cocoa. He poured them both a mug and tossed a handful of mini marshmallows into Starsky’s.

“Let’s go get comfortable,” Hutch said, turning to Starsky with a mug in each hand. “Bring the tray of sandwiches and a couple bags of chips.”

Starsky settled in a club chair and Hutch straddled an ottoman at Starsky’s feet, both facing the fire. Hutch reached down to pick up a few logs that were stacked handily nearby and threw them in on top of pieces that remained, still smoldering from earlier that evening. He handed Starsky a poker so he could rearrange the crackling pile and bring the fire back to life.

Within minutes the room was full of flickering red and gold shadows and comforting heat. The partners grew silent watching the flames dance, both focusing on the sounds around them—the hissing of the logs as they burned bright then crumbled, giving birth to a hundred smaller sparks; the wind howling outside the sturdy doors and tight windows that refused to let it in; the crackle and crunch of Starsky finishing off the bag of potato chips.

Starsky crumpled the empty bag into a ball and tossed into the fire where it caused a rainbow flair of color. As he watched it, his minded wandered over the journey that had brought them to this place. All the adventures they had had. Yet here he was on the threshold of a new life without his best friend. His future stretched out before him empty and bleak. The thought caused him to sigh.

Starsky turned his eyes from the flame and watched the top of Hutch’s head as he sipped his hot cocoa. He marveled at how warmth flowed from him like melted butter. How he held a fire of his own. Starsky wrapped his fingers around his mug, thinking how he wanted to run them through that corn silk mop. Against the firelight, Hutch glowed amber like fine whiskey in a crystal glass waiting to be sipped and savored.

Hutch was as beautiful and dependable as the dawn itself. For so many years, Hutch had been the sun Starsky’s world encircled. How could someone go on with their life if the sun never rose again? He shivered despite the heat he felt from Hutch and the fire. Life without Hutch would be as cold and desolate as spent ashes.

He knew for certain he would never love anyone the way he loved Hutch.

 

Hutch, too, stared into the fire, his thoughts on the man behind him. Hutch knew Starsky was hurting even beyond the wounds that had been inflicted on his body. Something had been bothering him, but he didn’t know what. Something between them had gone off track and Hutch didn’t know how to reconnect, which was most unnerving of all.

Before their pain had always been shared no matter who was hurting, but tonight Hutch would gladly have taken all Starsky’s pain onto himself. His heart ached for his friend who had always been the epitome of a good, honest man.

I couldn’t love anyone more than I love him, he mused. He’s the star shining through to my darkest fears. The bright light of my life, bringing joy to my existence and glad tidings to my heart. He’s my religion. What I believe in. He gives me Christmas every day wrapped in a curly-haired package of pure love. How on earth can a man live without a shining star to guide his path and never lead him astray?

Hutch fingered the pocket of his flannel shirt, finding the handcrafted Star of David on a fine gold herringbone chain he had bought for Starsky at the flea market. He was searching for a nice way to wrap it. A good time to give it to him.

Tonight happened to be the eighth night of Hanukkah. Ever since Starsky’s ma had passed away, Hutch had dutifully given him his eight presents each year. The last seven mornings he had left a candy bar and a small toy outside of Starsky’s door, earning Hutch the great reward of a crooked smile, glistening blue eyes, and a whispered, “Thanks,” at the breakfast table.

He thought maybe he’d give this final gift to him tonight when they said goodnight. Hutch cringed at the idea of K.C. handing out Hanukkah presents to Starsky next year.

Hutch’s breath hitched and he closed his eyes. He gave in to the urge to just lean back into Starsky’s space as he rested in the club chair. He immediately felt strong, warm hands stroking his hair. He heard Starsky sigh and felt him scoot forward in his chair till Hutch was surrounded by the man he loved.

Starsky pulled him in and rested his chin on top of Hutch’s head. Hutch patted Starsky’s knee in return. He caught a wisp of Starsky-scented air, sweet as a Mars bar and fresh as newly washed jeans. Still silent, they sat as long as they could, basking in the rare sense of contentment that the two of them created whenever they were alone together.

Hutch felt this might be the last time it would be like this for them.

Starsky was the one to clear his throat and break the golden silence. “Can I hear that song you were practicing earlier?”

“Sure.” Hutch smiled and reached for his guitar. He turned on his ottoman to face Starsky and backed away a bit by pushing against the hearth with his boot heel.

Starsky moved to the edge of his chair and leaned forward, elbows on knees and hands clasped in front of him. He bowed his head as Hutch began to play.

“When I’m worried and I can’t sleep  
I count my blessings instead of sheep  
And I fall asleep counting my blessings.

When my bankroll is getting small  
I think of when I had none at all  
And I fall asleep counting my blessings

I used to be a white knight, upon a worn out steed  
Now I’m in the spotlight and have just what I need  
So if you’re worried and you can’t sleep  
Just count your blessings instead of sheep  
And you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.”*

As Hutch’s voice filled the room with the heartfelt last line, Starsky finally looked up into his eyes. Tears were starting in Hutch’s eyes as they latched onto Starsky’s.

“Hutch, babe. That was beautiful.”

Hutch put down his guitar without breaking eye contact. “It was for you. Starsk, you’ve been the biggest blessing in my life. No matter what happens, I’ll always love you, you know that, right?”

“Hutch, I’ve been blessed to have you by my side all these years. No matter how the future turns out, I’ll always love you.”

“We had a great run, buddy. I guess it was silly of us to think it could never end.”

“Yeah, pal. No bad guy could ever bring us down. But we can’t fight time.”

“Can’t fight the inevitable.”

They broke apart, and Starsky wiped a few tears that had fallen on Hutch’s cheek away and ruffled his hair. “None of that, babe. We’re both goin’ to be happy as clams.”

“Yeah, sure we are.” At least one of them would be. Hutch looked down and decided the time was right. “Got something for you. May it bring you health and peace.” Hutch reached in his pocket for the gold herringbone necklace with the star of David charm and dangled it in front of Starsky.

Starsky took the necklace from Hutch’s hand and held it up to the moonlight cascading through the darkened windows. “This is terrific, babe. Help me put it on. I wanna see it on me.”

Hutch took the necklace and stood behind him. His fingers brushed Starsky’s neck as he worked the clasp. He smoothed the necklace against Starsky’s neck, pulling errant brown curls out of the way of the clasp. He let some strands curl around his finger sending electric shocks through his hand.

Hutch noticed goosebumps on Starsky’s neck as he fastened the clasp. When he had finished Starsky lifted the charm in his hand seeming to admire the craftsmanship of the six-pointed star then let it drop. He reached for Hutch’s hand to give it a squeeze. “Thanks, babe. I love it.”

“Sure, Starsk. Look, I better get some rest and so should you. Another big day tomorrow. Show must go on.”

Hutch backed away from Starsky and nearly ran up the stairs to his room. He never looked back, because he couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

 

For long minutes after Hutch left, Starsky sat by the hearth watching the fire die. As he touched the precious gift Hutch had given him, he couldn’t come up with a single blessing now that Hutch had gone.

To be continued..

* Lyrics by Irving Berlin


	4. Chapter 4

Starsky helped Rosie and K.C. arrange the fully decorated tree toward the back of the stage so that each act would be illuminated from behind by the soft glow of the tree lights. Although this show wasn’t as big a production as he was used to overseeing, it was by far more important. Starsky wanted to bring an old fashioned Christmas to life right in Dobey’s lodge.

He wanted Christmas magic to come alive for the Dobeys, for K.C., but especially for Hutch.

Besides K.C.’s set and a few numbers from Hutch, Starsky had also suggested inviting Mae and June to perform. Everyone agreed their act was just the thing to liven up the place and that Captain Dobey would adore them. K.C. had invited Whimsy along, too.

Keeping everything a secret from Dobey was hard work. Starsky had double talked Dobey into confusion and the captain, all too familiar with Starsky’s flimflam, finally just agreed that he didn’t understand show business. He gave Starsky and his accomplices free reign to plan the Christmas Eve show.

Huggy had called to let Starsky know to expect a full house. He’d worked his magic as always. He’d even volunteered to act as emcee, although it hadn’t taken much arm twisting, and he’d spent a lot of time playing phone tag and working out details with Starsky.

Simmons and Babcock had also helped spread the word to everyone who had ever worked with or under Dobey about the Christmas Eve concert to honor their former captain.

The night before Christmas Eve, everyone was exhausted. Long rehearsals, combined with last minute problems in coordinating an overflow of guests, a temperamental sound system, and even several broken guitar strings had left everyone on edge.

By midnight, Starsky accepted that everything was as much under control as possible considering the circumstances. Along with his other responsibilities as stage manager, he had directed Hutch to bed for a good night’s sleep.

Ever since the night Hutch had sung Blessings, they’d avoided being alone together. Paradoxically, neither were sleeping well. Starsky could easily read the slight shadows under Hutch’s blue eyes and how his lips were pulled back in tension. He was sure Hutch could see the same on him.

Once Starsky had seen Hutch go into his room, he fell into bed himself, tossing and turning in an uneasy rest.

 

Across the hall, sleep continued to escape Hutch as well. Other than Starsky’s soft snore, the only cure for insomnia he knew was music. He waited until he figured Starsky would be asleep, then went down to retrieve the guitar he’d left by the snack bar.

In the common room, Hutch noticed Rosie and K.C. sitting by the fire indulging in midnight snacking and deep conversation. K.C. looked to be trembling slightly and he watched Rosie placed a gentle hand on her shoulder in response as the flames flickered and hissed nearby.

“It’s no secret I love a good secret, but this one’s a doozy,” Rosie said.

K.C. shook her head. “I can’t figure it out, Rosie. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone. I know what I want to do, but what if I’m wrong?”

“I’m no expert, sweetie, but any kind of love comes with risks.”

Something about the intensity of their conversation grabbed him. Hutch knew he should just go back upstairs, that it was wrong to eavesdrop, but he couldn’t seem to move his feet. He listened to their confidences shared under the cover of darkness, just as he had so many times before in another life. But that was done under the auspices of the law; now he had no excuse other than the tightening in his chest.

“I know they’ve been together for a long time,” K.C. continued. “But neither one is happy. I can see it in their eyes. They’ve just become overly dependent on each other.” K.C. sighed. “They are both very, very good people. Neither wants to be the one to break it off.”

“Are you saying they aren’t moving on because they don’t want to hurt each other?” Rosie asked.

“Yeah. And if I make a move, get in between them, I’ll be labeled as the bitch who broke up a long-term partnership.”

“K.C., you can’t know for sure how they’ll react. They may be grateful that it’s finally out in the open that their relationship is over.” Rosie lifted the bowl of popcorn on her lap and offered some to K.C. “Besides, my mother told me once that if you love something, you need to set it free.”

“Your mom was one sharp lady.” K.C. tossed few of the white kernels in her mouth.

The tightening in Hutch’s chest had turned to a white hot poker, as if the poker that leaned against the fire pit had speared him through. He squeezed his eyes closed as he felt them threatening to fill with tears yet again.

He took a stumbling backwards step into the shadows. He would not give in to his selfish emotions. He needed to think of Starsky’s needs.

K.C. was absolutely right about one thing. Starsky would hold on forever to ‘me and thee.’ It was up to Hutch to be strong and make the break. For Starsky’s sake. For a sick moment, he thought of how a woman nearly had broken them apart once before. He shuddered as memories of a sexy, scheming siren came back in full force with a name they no longer spoke aloud.

Even if Starsky wasn’t wholeheartedly in love with K.C., this time Hutch wouldn’t interfere. He needed to give them the space to allow love to grow. This time he’d set Starsky free. Even if it meant half of Hutch’s heart and soul would be left behind with a curly-haired imp of a man that he loved more than life itself.

Hutch hung his head in sorrow and determination as he went to pack. The best thing to do would be to leave immediately. Make a quick, clean break and never see Starsky again.

As he made his way slowly up the stairs the rest of their conversation drifted out of range.

 

“I’ll think about it, Rosie,” K.C. said through her own regrets. “I guess you’re right. I have to be brave and speak up about my feelings. I need to do it in person though. Mae and June are definitely coming tomorrow morning to be in the show and Whimsy agreed to drive them here. I’ll tell Whimsy how I feel when she gets here.”

K.C. gave Rosie a quick hug. “Thanks, Rosie, for listening. When you’re gay, you don’t always know who you can confide in. Who you can trust.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel can trust me. You’re a special person, K.C. I can’t wait to meet the woman who has your heart.”

“I just wish I could explain it to Starsky and Hutch. I think they have the wrong idea about me.”

“After all these years, I think they have the wrong idea about each other,” Rosie mused.

“Men can be so dense.” K.C. giggled and dropped some more popcorn in her mouth.

 

Hutch waited until he heard the women say their goodnights in the hallway and go to their rooms. Then he placed the note he’d addressed to K.C. on the pillow of his undisturbed bed, picked up his old duffle bag and guitar case and walked out the door.

There was still no sign of snow clouds in the dark blanket of sky, though he thought the wind must have picked up since he felt a definite chill down to his bones. Stars shone with brilliance, and he was struck by one star that hung next to the half moon right above the lodge. It shone brighter than the others.

Hutch suspected it must be a planet, maybe Venus or Mars. But his heart reminded him of a similar star that once hung over a manger where a son of David slept. Beneath that star, his own David, his own pure love, was sleeping safe and warm under the broad roof.

He turned away from the Eastern star and followed the cold North wind toward the woods.

When Hutch decided to leave behind his life as a singer, he’d also chosen to leave behind most of his personal possessions, all of his professional clothes and, regretfully, his ski jacket. He’d taken only the barest necessities and, of course, his guitar.

He put down his bag and guitar to zip up his black leather jacket and turn up his collar against the biting wind. He wished he had a little black knit cap like Starsky used to wear years ago on the streets of Bay City—back when they were young and idealistic and couldn’t have imagined a night like this.

He shook his head. Those days were best forgotten. He would live a simple life in the woods, with only his guitar for comfort. Maybe he would write a book, like Thoreau.

“Pine Lake,” he said aloud. His voice was a strange echo to his own ears.

He figured he’d spend the rest of the night in the old cabin. Just one more time. As for tomorrow? He didn’t know.

The letter he’d left for K.C. explained how he’d secretly made arrangements to pay off the mortgage on the ski lodge. Hopefully, the captain wouldn’t find out about it until after New Year’s. Hutch would be long gone by then.

As soon as he could, he’d put the biggest part of his personal savings and all of his investments in Starsky’s name. With Hutch’s small fortune, Starsky’s own account, and the joint business accounts Starsky already had access to, K.C. and Starsky would be amply provided for. Starsky could retire or open a club in Reno where K.C. could sing. He’d never have to spend long days or sleepless nights on the road again. Starsky could focus on staying healthy, living a long, comfortable life, and never have to worry about his albatross of a partner again.

Hutch only wanted enough money to survive, because without Starsky, that would be all he’d be doing. Survive. He huddled into his jacket and wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

 

Starsky was startled into wakefulness by loud insistent banging on own door and the terrifying sounds of an angry woman.

“Open up, Starsky! You chauvinist bastard! Open up and explain the meaning of this letter!”

Starsky rubbed his eyes and grabbed a robe.

When he opened the door, K.C., still in baggy pajamas, barreled in and shoved a letter on the lodge’s stationary under his nose. “You better have a good explanation for this, buster.”

Starsky seized the letter as he immediately recognized the handwriting. “It’s from Hutch.” He moved the paper back and forth before his eyes as though playing a trombone until the writing came into focus. “What the hell? It reads like a last will and testament.”

Starsky’s hand started to shake and he grew pale as he continued to read. When he finished, he looked back at K.C. in disbelief and horror. “He’s left. He’s left because… Oh! Shit!”

“Yeah, I know. The letter says it plain enough. He left so that you and I can be free to be together. There’s only one person who could make Hutch act crazy like this. Tell me what you did, Starsky,” she said firmly.

“No… no… K.C.! It’s you and him who are supposed to be together.” Starsky took a few steps back and collapsed on the bed as the paper crumpled in his hand. “He got it all wrong.”

“So that’s why I’ve been feeling like a ping pong ball between the two of you for the past few days,” she huffed.

“I… I… wanted Hutch to have his dream of a real life—the one he gave up to be with me. You know. Not traveling around with his broken down partner. I wanted him to have the house, the wife, the kids, the dog. The whole thing.”

“Which one was I supposed to be?” Her eyes blazed angrily. “I’ve got news for you two morons. I’m not in love with either of you. If you must know, I’m in love with Whimsy.”

“Whimsy? Whimsy—the bartender at Sisters?”

“Some detective you are. You couldn’t tell I was gay?”

“Well, no, I…” Starsky stammered, his face turning red.”

“Maybe you two should quit second-guessing everyone and just ask. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble. He thought you and I wanted to be together and he was keeping us apart. Knowing Hutch, I’m sure he figured you’d never break up the act as long as he was around and that all he had to do was remove himself from the picture and you and I would live happily ever after.”

“Oh, God! He’s gone! Out there all alone with no backup. I never wanted that! I gotta find him!” Starsky covered his face with his hands.

“Starsky, honey, it’s too late. I checked.” K.C. sat down next to him and put her arm around him. “He just up and disappeared. Not a trace. The cars are all here. He didn’t call a cab. If he hitched a ride with a trucker, he could be anywhere by now.”

“What did I do?” Starsky let the letter drop to the floor, and K.C. held him in her arms as his shoulders shook.

What was Hutch thinking? That I could have a better life on my own? What kind of a life would I have without Hutch? Hutch had always been there for him, not only to watch his back him but to laugh with, argue with, sing with. To talk sense into him, too, especially when Hutch thought he was making a mistake. Like the horrible mistake Hutch was making now.

Suddenly, he pushed K.C. away as a thought cut through his head. Did Hutch think he was going to let him walk away just like that? “That blond bastard! He tries to set me up with you! Then he skips out on the captain. When I find him, I’m gonna knock some sense into that dumb blond head of his.”

“Honey, this rollercoaster ride you and Hutch are on is better than the one at Disneyland. Why don’t you both just admit that you are crazy in love with each other.” She sighed. “Emphasis on the crazy.”

“What?”

“Oh, yeah. Everybody knows it but you two.”

Starsky closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. He finally looked into his heart honestly and candidly the way he hadn’t in years. Maybe never had. When he did, he saw Hutch and only Hutch. Smiling at him, giving him that special, blue eyed, dumb blond look that was so full of love Starsky thought how sometimes he had to look away.

He opened his eyes and saw K.C.’s worried frown. “We are, aren’t we?” A stupid grin crossed his face. Then his insides lit up with the combined luminosity of a Hanukkah menorah and a Christmas tree.

“This ain’t over, K.C.,” he said, straightening. “I can fix this. I’ll track him down if it’s the last thing I do. He’s played hide and seek with me before and I won. But it’ll have to wait till after tonight’s show. I already let you and Hutch down. I can’t let the captain down too.”

<><>***<><>

K.C. sat wrapped in a wool blanket on a window seat in the common room, nursing a tepid coffee and staring out into the woods.

Rosie joined her and pulled her into a hug. “Uncle Dave told me about the letter. He’s really gone? Just like that? He won’t be at the show tonight?”

“He thought he was in the way of Starsky’s happiness. And to him that’s more important than any show. He’s never really understood how important he is to his fans.”

“Boy, Uncle Dave and I didn’t just lay an egg. We laid a California volleyball.”

K.C. nodded in agreement. “What a mess. Men can be such drama queens. We can take care of Starsky, but I sure hope Hutch is all right. I’m really worried about him. It’s a cold world out there when you’re all alone. I think he’s forgotten that.”

Rosie sighed. “I never should have gotten involved with Uncle Dave’s crazy ass plan. I should have told you what he was thinking. I just didn’t foresee this. I am so sorry, K.C.”

Outside the window, the cold wind whipped the trees making them bow and dance to winter’s frosty tune. A thin trickle of grey rose up between two big pines.

“Is that a forest fire?” K.C. asked.

“That’s all we need.” Rosie looked intently at where K.C. was pointing. “No, baby. My folks’ old cabin is over there. Someone must have a fire going, but it’s not rented out this week.” She frowned for a minute, then grinned. “I think we just found Uncle Ken!”

K.C.’s face lit up to match Rosie’s. “I’m going to get dressed.” She jumped up and ran towards the staircase leaving her cozy cocoon behind.

“I’ll get the Jeep,” Rosie called after her.

 

Hutch was outside the cabin chopping wood when Rosie’s Jeep skid to a stop just a few feet away, tires spitting out dirt. He’d seen them coming and knew it was pointless to hide. He realized the fire from the stove must have given him away, and he cursed himself for his rookie mistake. He’d been out of the detective business too long, it seemed.

Hutch continued wielding his axe as the two women got out of the Jeep.

“Uncle Ken! We’ve been so worried about you!” Rosie jumped out the driver’s seat and ran to give him a hug.

K.C.’s greeting was less enthusiastic. She walked around the Jeep and came to a stern-faced stop in front of him with her arms akimbo. “Did you think you could get away with running out on us?”

“I’m sorry, ladies, but you’ll do just fine without me. Everyone will,” Hutch said, stopping reluctantly from his chore and gripped the ax like a talisman in front of him as if it could magically protect him from unspeakable pain. “Then after the show you and Starsky can move on with your lives,” he directed at K.C. “Hopefully, they’ll be long and healthy ones.”

K.C. sputtered. “He doesn’t want a life with me, dummy—he wants a life with you!”

Hutch shook his head. “I heard you, K.C. Last night when you and Rosie were talking by the fire about how you felt about him. No sense denying it. I came down to get my guitar. I know I shouldn’t have listened in, but I couldn’t help it. You said we were holding on to something that’d been over for years.”

“And you, Rosie.” He turned to her. “You said if you love something, set it free. So that’s what I’m doing.”

Rosie’s eyes widened. “That conversation wasn’t about you and Uncle Dave. This has all been just a big misunderstanding.” Then she sighed. “Uncle Dave told me he was worried about you. He said he felt awful that you’d given up the chance for a wife and family of your own to take care of him. He wanted to see you settle down, married…”

“To me.” K.C. came closer and gingerly took the axe from Hutch’s hand. “And you were trying to set me up with Starsky for the same reason, right?”

Hutch looked from one to the other of the women, slowly processing what they said. A heat percolated low in his belly. “You mean, Starsky thinks I’d be happier married? He thought I was interested in K.C.? Not that you’re not wonderful, K.C.,” he stammered. “But, but…”

“But I’m not Starsky,” she finished for him.

“All he wanted was for you to be happy,” Rosie added.

“Happy? Happy?” Hutch’s simmering emotions erupted. “That manipulative curly-haired bastard! How dare he do this to me! To you, K.C.”

“Hey! Leave me out of your crazy, screwed up relationship.” She reached up to knock him on top of his head with a closed fist. “I didn’t do a thing, remember that? I never showed the least bit of interest in either of you idiots. I have my own heartache to worry about. I don’t need to be caught up in the melodramatic, sophomoric, bullshit you two wallow in!”

“K.C.! I… I never meant to…”

“Yeah, yeah. You never meant to hurt Starsky. You never meant to tear his heart out and stomp on it. But that’s what your leaving did to him. You two are so far in the closet that you’re stilling looking for your lost Christmas presents from 1976!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you two love each other. You belong together. Get it? Call yourself straight, gay, bi, or whatever, but what you two have is what everybody else in the whole wide wonderful world is looking for.” K.C.’s tirade that had started with indignation ended in nearly a sob. “And you throw it away, because you won’t admit to yourselves that you were made for each other.”

Hutch was gob-smacked. How could they be so transparent to others yet opaque to themselves? He turned away from K.C.’s fervent lecture only to see Rosie nodding her head in agreement.

“Love is the most wonderful, powerful force in the world, Uncle Ken. You and Uncle Dave have shown me that. Do you really think you were immune to its power? What do you think pulled you through all those times that would have killed anyone else? The plague, getting poisoned, a car wreck? Even kicking heroin.” Rosie clasped her hand over her mouth.

K.C. let out an audible gasp.

Hutch just froze.

“Yeah, Uncle Ken, I heard about it. But I’m through with keeping secrets,” Rosie admitted. “But it wasn’t until years later when I had a friend get hooked on horse. I didn’t know how to help him. Then Dad told me about what had happened to you and how Uncle Dave pulled you through. Uncle Dave and the power of love.”

Hutch looked around uncomfortably until his eyes rested on the pile of wood he had poured his heartache into for the last hour. The physical labor had done nothing to alleviate his pain. It was true. He loved Starsky and wanted to be with him now and forever. To have and to hold.

Maybe he’d known it from the day they’d met. He just hadn’t known how to accept it the way he’d seen other couples do. But if they could work it out together the way they’d faced so many other challenges…

“Starsky and I have said plenty of times that we love each other—but as friends. Nothing else. Did Starsky tell you he wanted something more?”

K.C. shifted on her feet. “No. He didn’t say those words exactly, but…”

Her words sliced through his gut like razors. “You’re right, ladies. I do love him; that’s a fact. I can’t deny it anymore, especially to myself. I want him. Always have.” But then he raised his hand, palm out and fingers splayed. “But he doesn’t want me the way I want him. It’s best we leave it at that. For his sake. He really is better off without me.” He spoke stiffly, mechanically. Admitting any more would break him. “This whole fiasco tells me plainly that he wants me out of his life whether he knows it consciously or not. Please. Just—go.”

He stopped and took a deep breath. “Don’t tell him you found me. Just let me find some peace.” Then he took back the ax and turned toward the wood pile.

K.C. and Rosie slowly returned to the Jeep as Hutch resumed chopping.

Chapter Eleven

The secret plan pieces formed together like a puzzle. On Christmas Eve, the stage, the banquet hall, even the room full of guests had taken Dobey completely by surprise. Rosie had even ensured that he’d changed out of his work clothes and into the fresh suit she’d strategically laid out for him earlier. The world-weary widower looked almost like a new man.

When the former captain entered the festive hall with Rosie on his arm, Starsky met them at the door, a Santa hat perched precariously on his head. His call of “Attention!” brought the room full of cops and their families to a stand.

Dobey, visibly shocked, swayed on his feet. Starsky grabbed Dobey’s other arm and spoke softly in his ear. “I know Christmas won’t ever be the same without Edith. But we all wanted to let you know how much you’re still loved. This is all for you, Cap. Merry Christmas.”

The uncharacteristically emotional man surveyed the audience as Starsky held on tight. When Dobey leaned in and asked, “What do I do now, Mr. Show Business?” Starsky couldn’t help but chuckle.

“An inspection!” Starsky suggested and led Dobey up to the mic on stage. Starsky pulled his former captain into an unabashedly affectionate hug and stepped back. Then all Dobey’s friends and adopted sons, past and present, broke out in the chorus of a corny ditty Hutch had written for Dobey’s retirement party years ago. Starsky had dug up the old lyrics and secretly coached them just before Dobey’s well- orchestrated entrance.

“We’ll follow the old man wherever he wants to go  
Long as he wants to go opposite to the foe  
Because we love him, we love him  
Especially when he keeps us on the ball  
And we’ll tell the kiddies we answered duty’s call  
With the grandest son of a -you know what- of all”*

Dobey reached for the mic, obviously overwhelmed, and cleared his throat while the room grew still. “I have never seen… such a horrendous display… of unfit, donut hoarding, sorry excuses for policemen in all my years on the force,” he said gruffly. But then his voice cracked. “And I have never seen a more beautiful sight in my entire life. Thank you all. I love you guys…”

He turned to Starsky, his eyes bright with what looked suspiciously like tears. “Now get me outta here before I get any more soapy in front of these clowns.”

 

At that, the audience broke out in thunderous applause until Huggy Bear Brown stepped out to take over the stage. He wrapped his lanky arms around the guest of honor. Then Starsky exited with Dobey in tow to where Rosie was waiting in the wings. “So you were in on it too, Rosie?” Dobey asked. “Keepin’ secrets from the old man, huh?”

“Now, Daddy. Christmas practically requires you to have secrets. Otherwise, where’s the fun?”

Dobey snorted then turned to Starsky. “Thank you, son. That you would do this for me means more to me than any Christmas present ever could.” He took a brief look around the room. “But… where’s Hutch? I don’t want to have to say thank you to you two sneaky bastards twice.”

The smile froze on Starsky’s face as Rosie deftly changed the subject. “Did you see the cake, Daddy? Hazel down at the Tinhorn Inn made it. It’s in the shape of a badge!”

Dobey turned his attention to the confection being set on the center table as Rosie sent a sympathetic look Starsky’s way. Starsky turned away quickly as if something offstage needed his immediate attention.

Rosey and Dobey walked through the assembled audience with Dobey’s composure more intact. He flirted with the ladies and shook hands with everyone.

To Starsky’s mind, Dobey’s grin and animated thanks to each and every one made all the hard work worthwhile. The only thing keeping the moment from perfection was not having Hutch there. He slipped back stage and perched on an extra speaker hidden behind the giant Christmas tree. He needed to catch his breath. Normally, he would have been energized by the boisterous crowd, but tonight his reserves were depleted. Between pulling off the secret production and worrying about Hutch, he was worn out to near exhaustion.

At first he’d been tempted to pull out all the stops and call in all his favors to find his lost love. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt Hutch must have been trying to tell him for months that it was time they break up the partnership. Hutch just wouldn’t tell him to his face. The Hutch he knew would never hurt him that way.

 

Huggy dove into his role as emcee with a long-winded anecdote about his days of solving crimes alongside Captain Dobey. While he was priming the crowd, K.C. prepared for her solo act. Starsky robotically checked his schedule. Everything was going as planned. Except for a major missing piece.

K.C. charmed the audience with her selection of country-western songs performed in her breezy style. Next, Mae and June took the stage with their energetic rendition of Sisters. They had the full house eating out of their hands.

An all-female string trio took the stage next with a swingy number perfect for dancing, prompting K.C. to bring Whimsy up front and swirl about in an unplanned dance. Their enjoyment of each other was contagious.

“The best things happen while you’re dancing  
things you would not do at home  
come naturally on the floor.

For dancing soon becomes romancing  
when you hold someone in your arms  
that you’ve never held before.

Even clowns with two left feet  
come out alright if the other’s sweet.  
If by chance their cheeks should meet while dancing  
proving that the best things happen while you dance.”*

Starsky realized now that using K.C. was unforgivable. Sweetheart that she was, however, she’d already forgiven him. As he watched the couple dance, Starsky indulged in a bittersweet memory of getting caught teaching Hutch to dip in Dobey’s old office. It seemed like an eternity ago.

Faces flushed, K.C. and Whimsy took a final spin as the song came to an end and Huggy returned to the stage. This was the part of the program where Hutch was to have sung a few of his hits. Then K.C. would have joined him for some traditional Christmas carols with some audience participation. But the headliner was still a no show.

Starsky hoped that maybe now Hutch would find that peace he had earned, without being weighed down by his partner in a worn-old relationship. He hoped Hutch would find the life Starsky desperately wanted for him.

Starsky listened half-heartedly as Huggy improvised a bawdy comedy routine that had his captive cop audience threatening to arrest him and their wives blushing. Although disappointed not to see their favorite “hometown boy who made good,” the audience was gracious as Huggy then turned the stage over to K.C.

Starsky glanced down at the presents scattered on the blue velvet tree skirt. Most were just empty boxes carefully wrapped by Rosie in bright paper and bows to decorate the set, but interspersed were a few were real gifts for family and the staff of the lodge.

His eyes fell on one hastily wrapped, lumpy and misshapen gift, with a simple red stick-on bow. The gift label featured a jaunty Santa and the words, “To: Hutch, From: Starsk,” scribbled in his own handwriting.

Leaving his perch, he picked up the weighty package and reshaped the bow, then subverted his efforts by pressing the package to his chest. The idea of Hutch somewhere out on his own pierced him more deeply than Gunther’s bullets. The thought of never seeing Hutch again brought Starsky literally to his knees. He knelt under the Christmas tree, making sure he was hidden from the audience, and fought the tears stinging his eyes as he heard K.C. take the stage to perform the show finale.

One more act without Hutch and Starsky, too, would be a free agent.

K.C. finished a soulful torch song to hearty applause while Starsky hid in the shadows. After the clapping died down, she asked the audience to sing along to some popular Christmas carols to bring the show to a close.

Half-way through Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, Starsky could hear the audience stir. Excited applause and whistles began to erupt, but from his position he couldn’t see the cause. He was too depressed to really care. Finally, Dobey’s loud excited laugh and Rosie’s girlish squeal broke through his dark thoughts.

He heard K.C. chuckle into the mic and say in her sassy cowgirl drawl, “Well, lookie what the cat done drug in!”

Starsky dropped Hutch’s present where it landed with a thud on the soft tree skirt. He slowly straightened from his cramped position as his heart hammered in his chest. He stepped from behind the tree and was nearly knocked over by a strapping Cal Dobey, wearing his Air Force uniform.

“Uncle Dave!” Cal pulled him into a tight squeeze but then quickly looked to Starsky’s ribs as he loosened his grip. “Sorry about that, Uncle Dave.” The tall, handsome young man switched to patting Starsky’s back, but Starsky brushed away the kid gloves treatment.

Although it wasn’t the man he wanted to see most at that moment, Cal was a sight for sore eyes, so Starsky swallowed his disappointment. This was a secret even he hadn’t been in on. “Cal! Buddy! I thought you were still overseas. What happened?”

“Huggy Bear Brown happened, Uncle Dave! He called my superior officer, told him some crazy story about a family emergency, and here I am. I would have been here sooner if not for the snow storm.”

Starsky backed away and took in Cal’s frozen appearance. “Did you say snow?”

“I sure did, Uncle Dave. Check it out.”

Cal laughed and strode to the heavy drapery covering the back wall of windows. He found the cords to open them and gave them a strong pull. The fabric drew away from the glass to reveal a landscape transformed into a winter wonderland.

Ohs, ahs, and applause bubbled up from around the room. Near his shoulder, Starsky heard K.C. draw in a breath at the magical scene. Then she turned back to Whimsy’s smiling face in the front row.

Starsky remembered their long, drawn out conversations in the cab all those years ago. How she said she always dreamed of love and family and Christmas magic. As Starsky saw K.C. look at Whimsy, Starsky realized that all her dreams were coming true. While he’d let his slip through his fingers.

K.C. adjusted her guitar strap and began to sing.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas  
Just like the ones I used to know  
Where the treetops glisten  
And children listen  
To hear sleigh bells in the snow.”*

Mae and June entered the stage from opposite sides and stood behind K.C. adding their harmonies to K.C.’s sweet alto. Mae waved a white-gloved hand to the Dobeys standing off stage left and Rosie clasped the hands of her father and brother and led them to the front. Both men had excellent singing voices and soon a soprano and two basses joined in the impromptu choir.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas  
With every Christmas card I write  
May your days be merry and bright  
And may all your Christmases be white.”*

Starsky stared at the drifting snow as he listened to the song—one of Hutch’s favorites. He wondered if Hutch was safe. If he was warm by a fire or wandering in the frigid night. Life on the road was hard but now Hutch was on his own, over-thinking things and getting them wrong the way he tended to do when left to his own devices.

Huggy walked on stage for the next stanza and encouraged the audience to participate with a flutter of his hand.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas  
Just like the ones I used to know  
Where the treetops glisten  
And children listen  
To hear sleigh bells in the snow.”*

Each verse grew more exquisite than the last as the crowd joined in, while Starsky only grew more despondent. He stumbled back off stage as his mind raced. Hutch could be such a dumb blond at times. What if Hutch needed him and Starsky wasn’t there? What if he was shaking in an alley somewhere or got trapped under a car? Ate from the wrong can of soup? Did Hutch think he didn’t care about him anymore? What if he just decided life was too hard and…

Starsky was so trapped in his thoughts, he barely noticed the chords of a second guitar combining with K.C.’s. But then he thought he heard a tenor, pure as mountain snow, add with the other voices.

Starsky held his breath and closed his eyes. Like the song’s composer, he was surely dreaming….

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas  
With every Christmas card I write  
May your days be merry and bright  
And may all your Christmases be white.”*

 

The song came to an end and the performers took a bow to hearty applause. All except one. That one whispered a question in K.C.’s ear. K.C. slapped a Santa hat on his head and pointed to the big Christmas tree.

Hutch moved toward the tree as the ovation continued to grow in momentum, but then he froze. Starsky had stepped out from behind the tree and was staring at Hutch with an unreadable expression. Hutch wondered if he’d made a mistake by coming back. Maybe he’d misjudged how furious Starsky would be for walking out on the show. Perhaps Starsky didn’t feel the same as Hutch did after all.

Hutch opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t know what to say. He went to Starsky and straightened the Santa hat that Starsky’s springy curls kept trying to unseat. His partner’s sapphire eyes burned a hole in his heart.

“Mmm… Merry Christmas, Starsk.”

Starsky just kept looking at him.

 

Starsky had never seen anything as heart-wrenching as the expression on Hutch’s face. It spoke of regret and longing and… love. The magical kind. The kind most people misunderstood and even fewer people got to experience. The silly, red fake fur-trimmed hat with its bouncy pompom on Hutch’s blond head just added to the surreal sweetness of the sight.

Starsky stared as Hutch’s full lips quivered in anticipation. He could only wish that Hutch had come to the same conclusion as he had. Was it possible? But it was Christmas—the time when anything was possible. He watched as Hutch’s resolve crumbled and his soulful blue eyes began to fill with tears.

“Starsky. I… I’m sorry…”

Starsky reached up and cupped Hutch’s cheek. His mouth twitched when he felt Hutch nuzzle his palm. “I know, babe. I am, too. You wanna hear somethin’ crazy?”

Hutch nodded against Starsky’s hand.

“We’re in love with each other. Did you know that? Crazy, huh?”

Hutch closed his eyes and nodded again. He cleared his throat. “Craziest thing I ever heard.” He traced the rim of the Santa hat on Starsky’s head with his fingers and took hold of his pompom playfully. “And very true.”

Starsky smiled and pulled away, leaving Hutch momentarily confused.

“I got somethin’ for ya.” Starsky reached down and fumbled with the packages under the tree until he found the oddly shaped present and handed it to Hutch.

“What’s this?” Hutch pulled apart the candy cane embossed paper and sticky red bow. Inside was a handcrafted figure of a white knight on a splendid steed.

 

“See, Hutch, I figured at first that I knocked you off your white horsey with all the worry and heartache you’ve spent on me over the years. I figured a nice damsel in distress was what you needed to make you happy. But then when you up and left, I found I needed something, too. I need you to be my white knight again. I need you back on that steed where you belong. I need you to watch over me and love me just the way only you can do, and I’m finally man enough to admit it.”

Hutch’s head bowed over the figure as he slid his long fingers over the smooth form. He continued to nod. “You figured, huh?” he said softly.

“Hutch.” Starsky took the white knight statue from Hutch’s hands and placed it carefully under the tree. “Look at me, blondie.

“Will you stay with me?” Starsky asked, not caring that he was laying his heart bare. After all, Hutch had healed his heart once before.

The sounds of merry making floated away and they found themselves in their own private snow globe. Hutch raised his eyes, still nodding. Starsky took Hutch’s face in his hands and pulled him into a kiss. Like warm breath on a frosty window pane, their kiss melted the ice that had formed between them. When they pulled apart, the world had been transformed into a pristine wonderland. They clung to each other, never wanting to let go.

“I love you, David Starsky. Always have, always will.”

“I love you, Kenneth Hutchinson. Then, now, and forever.”

They had taken a vow neither would ever break, come what may. Together they had a home that was stronger than four walls. No matter their human frailties, they knew their love would live Christmas after Christmas.

Just then K.C. and Whimsy came up to them and K.C. cleared her throat. Starsky and Hutch reluctantly let go of each other and the girls giggled. “Come on you two Santa wannabes, Harold wants to cut the cake,” K.C. announced.

Hutch placed his arm around Starsky as they both walked off the stage, pompoms bouncing merrily.

“Hey, Hutch,” Starsky asked. “Where’d ya go anyway? I was worried.”

“I only made it as far as the cabin, babe. Did some soul searching and wood choppin’. There’s a massive woodpile there now.” He lifted his free hand and wiggled his fingers. “I’ve got blisters on my blisters.”

Starsky grabbed for Hutch’s hand and held it against his heart. “Yeah? What say we grab some snow shoes, blow this joint, and head over there. After cake, of course.”

“Of course,” Hutch said with a grin.

“Merry Christmas, Hutch.”

“Merry Christmas, Starsk.”

“By the way, I’m keepin’ the money ya gave me. You ain’t very responsible with your finances when you’re in love, blintz. Gotta keep two eyes on you from now on and never let you outta my sight. Hey! What say we spend next Christmas in Hawaii?”

Hutch chuckled and playfully planted a kiss on Starsky’s nose, then grabbed Starsky’s Santa hat and pulled it down over his eyes. “Sounds like a plan, gordo.”

Starsky righted his hat and began to croon.

“May your days be merry and bright  
And may all your Christmases be white.”*

The End

*Lyrics by Irving Berlin


End file.
